Hail the Conquering Hero
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: Cato has planned for all his life to win the Hunger Games and be recognized throughout Panem as a hero. But not everybody else is following the same script.
1. Reaping

**Hail the Conquering Hero**

 _(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with HUNGER GAMES. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)_

Go tell the District, you who've read

I took their orders, and am dead.

\- paraphrase of famous ancient Greek monument.

 **Chapter 1 Reaping**

The ceremony of the reaping in District 2 was in an appropriately dramatic spot. The Justice Building was grand and imposing, much more so than ones that Cato had seen in scenes from other Districts. Off to the left was a large mountain, towering over the District the way a Victor towered over his fellow citizens. Rumor had it that there was a large military station inside, but Cato didn't care about that. He was focussed on the reaping.

He had been training for years for this, since he was 12. He had started at the Peacekeeper Academy, and after one year had been chosen for the secret Games classes. The classes had started with twenty boys, and gradually weeded them out. Some had been injured during realistic practice games. Some had simply failed, and were expelled after being run through the gauntlet. (The departure was made as painful as possible, to discourage trainees from chickening out and deliberately failing) Some were good but not good enough, and rejoined the Peacekeeper trainees. They were down to 2 boys, Cato and his backup Remus. The girls had likewise been winnowed down to Claudia and her backup Clove. It didn't matter whose name was actually drawn; the volunteers were lined up.

"Now for the girls," said Livia Oil, the escort from the Capitol. She drew the paper from the bowl, trying to make a drama out of it. She opened it, took a deep breath, and proclaimed "Maria Magda—"

"I volunteer!" cried a voice from the audience, and shock ran through everybody from the academy. Somebody was SUPPOSED to volunteer, but it was supposed to be Claudia. The voice was Clove's.

As the diminutive girl marched toward the stage, Cato heard the Academy people mutter, trying to decide whether they could override Clove's offer. Probably not. Too much tradition behind it. A volunteer overrode the reaping choice, and nobody could override the volunteer.

Cato was dismayed; he had planned everything on the assumption that he would been working with Claudia: when to cooperate with her to eliminate the other tributes, and when to kill her. But he couldn't replan now; he had to await his own cue and not miss it.

Livia, probably unaware that she had the wrong girl, mechanically praised the volunteer, as she did every year. Then she said "and now for the boys."

Repeating the drama, she drew the slip from the boy's bowl. "Lucius Leatherton!"

"I volunteer!" called Cato hastily, just in case Remus was planning a second stunt. But the latter stayed silent, and the Academy people seemed partly relieved.

Cato marched the stage and climbed the stairs to the platform. Livia, still clueless, asked Cato and Clove to shake hands. They did so, stiffly. It was ridiculously formal compared to their last encounter 3 weeks ago, which had taken place in Clove's bed. Clove must have been thinking the same thing, because she was smirking at him.

They needed to talk.

But talking privately was impossible during the reaping ceremony, which was televised all over Panem. And after that they were ushered into separate rooms for the "farewells". Cato had no family to visit him, and he was not surprised when the Headmaster and Brutus came in instead.

"Did you know that this was going to happen?" demanded the Headmaster. "You and Clove know each other fairly well."

The Headmaster didn't know how well, and he didn't need to know. "I had no idea. I swear it."

"Does it matter?" asked Brutus. "It's not as if she wandered in from nowhere. You made her second place, out of 20 choices, so she must have the proper skills."

"She does. Ruthless in battle, and particular skillful with knives."

"Then we'll train her just as we would the other one. No problem."

They argued a while, and didn't say another word to Cato. Maybe that was a good sign: it meant they had no doubts about Cato.

Afterwards they walked from the Justice Building to the train station. It was only a block's walk, and the nearness of the two structures would prove to be important in an incident two years in the future, but of course Cato didn't know that. Instead it triggered a disturbing thought. He had had a vision of himself coming back, Victor of the 74th Hunger Games, and being greeted by Clove at the station at the head of the admiring crowds. Now he suddenly realized that it was not going to happen that way, and not only because Clove was going with him.

It was because only one of them was coming back.


	2. On the Course to the Games

**Chapter 2 On Course for the Games**

A lavish meal was laid out for them as Brutus, Enobaria, Cato, Clove, and Livia got on the train. It wasn't too tempting to Cato, who had been trained to prefer the simpler foods that might be stored in a Cornucopia or sent by sponsors. Clove would probably feel the same way.

"We need to talk," he said to Clove.

She raised her eyebrows. "YOU need to talk. I'm willing to humor you, though."

"Whatever." He looked at the others. "Where-?"

"You can use the freight car, if you must," said Brutus. "But the Capitol is likely to hear you anyway. They can hear everything on the train."

Cato decided that he must; it didn't really matter if the Capitol heard.

"Why did you volunteer?" he demanded when they were shut into the freight car.

"Same reason you did," retorted Clove. "I wanna win the Hunger Games."

"Claudia was supposed to volunteer. You were only supposed to speak up if something went wrong."

"If I win, nobody will care. Except you, apparently. Why do you care?"

"My plans for the future were that I'd come back from the Games, and we could get together permanently. Live together in the Victor Village and be honored by all."

"But not equally. They'll be honoring the great Victor and his little wife." Cato was tempted to make a snide remark about her being "little", but she plowed on. "I shoulda been the first choice, not Claudia."

"So why weren't you chosen?"

She sighed. "If you must know, there was an incident two years ago. Remember when Pepper was killed during the 72nd Games by the girl from 4? They brought her body into the girl's wing for a memorial ceremony. Pepper was a real close friend of mine, and I started crying. The Headmaster saw me, and he slapped my face and dragged me to his office. Said they couldn't have whiners in the Games; they'd be targeted as weak. Threatened to kick me out of the school, after three years. I persuaded him to give me another chance, and he did. I worked my ass off for two years to impress them. And they put me through sessions of Insensitivity Training, so I wouldn't get upset when people got hurt. But I'm sure that if it wasn't for that crying incident, I'd have been number 1. So now you answer my question. Why do you care?"

"Because we can't both leave the arena. To finish the Games, I may have to kill you."

"Or vice versa," she said drily.

"All right, or vice versa. I had some Insensitivity Training of my own, but it may have been different than yours. Basically I was taught to suppress inhibitions in a tight situation, and follow my rage."

"OK. If you kill me, I won't take it personally. If you'll give me the same promise."

"All right," he grumbled. He'd just have to change his plans. He had after all been taught that the test of a hero was his ability to transcend minor considerations and aim for victory. Pain was a minor consideration, and love ranked several levels below pain. Clove had definitely given the chance of victory priority over their love, already. It was probably best not to even think of it as love. Think of it as a crush, combined with lust. When he came back to District 2 as victor, every girl in the District would want to sleep with him. Plenty of opportunities for lust. He could meditate on that.

The important thing was winning.

TO BE CONTINUED


	3. Remember You are Mortal

**Chapter 3 Remember You are Mortal**

The chariots were all lined up for the parade. Clove and Cato, being District 2, were near the head of the queue, preceded only by District 1. Cato thought that the District 1 girl – Glimmer, he thought her name was - was very sexy. Maybe, during the alliance negotiations over the next few days, he might persuade her to go to bed with him. Clove definitely wasn't interested anymore.

Brutus, Enobaria, and Livia were at the Training Center. Only their stylist, Vulcan Vinings, was with them on this end of the parade route. Cato liked the stylist's work: they were dressed in golden armor, with an eagle design on their chests. The stylist had even been able to compensate for Clove's short height by giving them large helmets with wings flaring out.

Clove was patting one of the chariot horses. "After I get back home, I'm gonna buy a horse with my winnings and ride it all over the district."

Cato ignored the implication: "and you'll be dead". "And probably got thrown off. Ever ridden a horse before?" It was a reasonable question. Horses were rare and expensive. Many species, particularly large animals had died the ecological disaster. Horses had survived because they were useful in areas where technology had died out. Nowadays they existed in mainly in District 10, where they were useful for herding, and the Capitol, where they were kept for spectacle like today's parade. But a Victor would be able to afford one.

"Actually, yes. During my first year in the Academy, there was talk of forming a mounted branch of the Peacekeepers, and I volunteered for riding lessons. Did well, too, but they decided I was Games material and promoted me out."

Cato finally thought of something snarky to say. "At least when you're on horseback people will be looking up at you. Rather than down as they have to do now."

Clove was about to give a retort when Vulcan intervened. "Somebody's coming."

It was a rather unimpressive boy. Looking back, Cato saw that the District 3 girl was alone with her horses and chariot. "What do you want?"

"I'm from District 3. I want to make an alliance."

"Why should we ally with you?" Cato didn't see any reason to be polite.

"I got an idea for a good weapon."

"We don't need more weapons. The Cornucopia is likely to have swords for me and knives for Clove."

"But—"

"ATTENTION!" boomed Claudius Templesmith's voice. "STAND READY AT YOUR CHARIOTS!"

"We can talk again later," said the boy from 3, starting back.

"Excuse me," said Vulcan, "but may I make an observation?"

"Go ahead," said Clove. Vulcan deserved a little politeness because of his great costuming.

"That boy may talk to other tributes. More than one person can wield a weapon. You might find somebody using his weapon AGAINST you, and you won't know anything about it. Remember, you are mortal."

"What does THAT mean?"

"They had parades in ancient Rome, called triumphs, usually to honor a victorious general. But to make sure the general didn't get TOO carried away with the honor, someone would ride in the chariot with him, and say, 'Remember, you are still but mortal.' "

"PLEASE BOARD YOUR CHARIOTS NOW."

Cato and Clove got on board – from opposite sides, because they didn't want to be that close to each other.

The National Anthem began. District 1's chariot started off, with its sexy girl and forgettable boy. A few measures later, their own horses started trotting, with no prodding. Clove told him later that these horses were mutts, who could be programmed to follow a particular course and particular signals. Cato didn't really care, as long as they transported him where he wanted to go.

And where he wanted to go was the main boulevard of the Capitol. Appearing in front of the cheering crowds, with his dazzling armor and dramatic horse-and-chariot accessories. It didn't matter that there were 10 more entourages behind him. His was the leader.

It was only when he was near the Circle, in front of the Presidential Palace, that he realized that something was wrong. There was cheering BEHIND him, of somebody else, nearly as loud as the plaudits that he had received.

He could turn around to see what was going on; that would be undignified. But he could turn his head slightly and look at the monitors at the side of the road, which were broadcasting the same show that all of Panem was seeing.

It was, of all things, District 12. They seemed to be clothed in flames, flames that burned without consuming them, as if they were superhuman. And the crowd loved it.

Cato was indignant. The peasants from 12 had clearly done nothing to deserve the attention. The fire was probably the idea of their stylist, aided by some special-effects technician in the Capital. Yet they were literally outshining Cato and Clove.

"I'm going to kill them in the Games," Cato said.

Clove did not ask the reason for the sudden outburst. She must have been going through the same thought process.

"Kill the boy," she said. "I'm gonna kill the girl."


	4. Training and Trouble

**Chapter 4 Training and Trouble**

The next 3 days were spent in the Training Center. For the tributes who had been reaped it was really their only chance to train. But Cato and Clove, and a few tributes from other districts, had been training for years. For them "Training" was an opportunity to scout out their competitors. They were to note their weaknesses and strengths. In the case of strengths, they were to determine if they were going to be enemies and allies.

Brutus gave them a good lecture on the subject of "strengths". He seemed obsessed by the Games, to the exclusion of everything else in life, but at least that made him a good mentor.

"Strength doesn't just mean lifting weights or winning a boxing match. It comes in a lot of different forms. Beetee's strength was that he could invent a killing machine out of the materials at hand. Johanna Mason's was that she was devious and tricked everybody into underestimating her until she won. Some won simply because they had the stamina to survive injury or lack of food. I got in touch with that District 3 boy that you rejected. He'll be your ally, and may be a very valuable ally."

So Cato looked around. Particularly he looked at the Twelves, who had outstaged him at the parade. Without their fire tricks, they looked pretty mediocre, showing few skills and spending their time studying survival techniques. He also noted that they clang together all the time. Cato attributed that to a lack of confidence. That was easier than admitting that he and Clove had fallen apart.

The most formidable-looking competitor was the boy from 11, a huge guy named Thresh. Cato even broached the possibility of an alliance. Thresh rebuffed the offer, though admitted that it was nothing personal. "I don't want to play the Games, and I don't want to take orders. I'm not going to fight except to protect my life."

After determining that nobody else seemed particularly threatening, Cato decided to take advantage of the facilities. The Training Center had features superior to those at the Academy – for example, swiftly moving holograms to aim at. Though Clove tried to hog the knives, Cato took one for himself. It would probably be a good idea to get proficient with a knife, particularly if the final fight ended up between him and Clove.

At some point the knife disappeared. The boy from 6 was standing where Cato had last put it down, and Cato accused him of stealing the weapon. The argument escalated until Cato knocked him down.

Two Peacekeepers came out of nowhere and grabbed him by the arms. Cato knew that he could struggle free, but he also suspected that there were a lot more Peacekeepers in the wings who could be summoned as reinforcements, so he decided not to fight. He didn't have the strength to fight the might of the Capitol.

They led him to an empty room, with a table and overhead light bulb and nothing else, and locked him in. A few minutes later a squad came in; one of them had a 3D image generator. He put it on the table and turned it on, and Cato suddenly found himself staring at President Coriolanus Snow. And vice versa; the President seemed to be examining him through the camera.

"Atala assured me that she announced that violence between tributes is forbidden during training. Strip him to the waist. 3 lashes. I don't want to incapacitate him this close to the Games; he might still have a chance to win. But make it hurt enough that he will remember."

The Peacekeepers wrestled him out of his the upper half of his training uniform, then forced him to bend down on the table. Two of them grabbed his wrists and held on so that he could not rise up again.

WHACK. It was like a knife carving an incision across his back.

WHACK. It was excruciating, but he willed himself not to grovel, not to beg for them to stop. They would refuse and he would have debased himself uselessly.

WHACK. They had hit him in three different areas of the back, so that he would hurt in multiple places afterward.

"I hope you understand that I am being merciful this first time," said Snow. "This thrashing will be kept off the record. But if you break the rules again, there will be far more lashes and it will be recorded. Understand?"

"Yes," Cato muttered.

"Then let him up and send him back to training." The 3D image vanished.

They released his wrists and he stood up gingerly. One Peacekeeper politely handed his shirt back. Cato resisted the impulse to slug the guy who was holding the whip; it would only be regarded as another infraction with a greater punishment. Another Peacekeeper opened the door. Cato stormed out and back to the gymnasium unaccompanied.

Clove was waiting for him. "You idiot. That guy you attacked wasn't the one who took your knife. It was that little girl from 11. Now don't go and hit her, or you'll look really crazy."

"I've promised to behave," Cato grumbled.

"What'd they do?"

Cato considered lying, then decided it wasn't worth it. Clove knew a lot of embarrassing things about him already. "Three lashes with a whip."

She raised her eyebrows, but her next remark was surprising. "I was given a thrashing my first week in Games training, with a belt. Left several welts on my back. I learned to adhere to orders after that."

"Really? I didn't see them when we were, uh –" He had seen Clove naked when they went to bed together; he hadn't noticed any marks on her back.

"They doctored my back to remove the scars; they didn't want to the Capitol people to see them and get suspicious about our training"

"That reminds me. Don't tell anybody; they said they'd keep it off the record."

"All right. Something interesting happened while you were gone. The boy from 12 lifted up a heavy weight and threw it about ten meters across the room. He might be good to ally with, against that boy from 11. The 11 guy seems determined not to ally with anybody."

"What about the girl?"

"Still looks pretty worthless to me. The Wuss on Fire."

"Okay. So that's us, and District 1, the boy from 3, the girl from 4, and maybe the boy from 12. Pretty good team, I think."

Cato was careful to avoid trouble for the rest of training. For the individual evaluation, he made an impressive display, concentrating on the use of a sword and spear. He chopped the head and arms off some dummies as a display of strength, then through spears at moving holograms to demonstrate his aim. He thought he made an excellent impression on the Gamesmakers. 

That night, as they were resting in their suite, the Gamesmakers had Caesar Flickerman read the scores on national TV. They were in the numeric order of the districts, so Cato and Clove came early. They both got an impressive score of 10 each. None of the following matched that. The top ranking quite overrode the humiliation he felt over the whipping.

Caesar finished with District 12.

"Peeta Mallark, a score of 8. Katniss Everdeen, a score of –"

And for the first time in years, Caesar hesitated, as if he could scarcely believe what he was reading.

"—11 !"


	5. Crossing the Lovers

**Chapter 5 Crossing the Lovers**

"11!" shouted Cato. "How could she have gotten an 11?" She had stolen his thunder twice, at the parade and at the ratings.

"Apparently she impressed the hell out of the Gamesmasters," Brutus said drily.

"How? I didn't notice anything impressive about her during training."

"I was VERY unimpressed," said Clove cattily.

"Apparently she played a stealth game, concealing her strengths from you," said Brutus. "It's not the first time. Johanna Mason did the same thing, though she even flunked her ratings, and caught everybody REALLY off-guard during her Games," mused Brutus. "I don't think the girl thought up the whole strategy from scratch; she may have had a good advisor. Her mentor, Heymitch, is a hopeless drunk, but the stylist that thought up the fire stunt was very clever and may be calling the shots. Well, that doesn't matter. The important thing is, finding out what her strength was before it blindsides you during the Games."

"Can't we find out from the Gamesmasters?" asked Clove.

"The evaluations are sealed until after the Games. Trying to steal the information is a serious crime, and can get somebody executed. But the weak point may be the people around the Girl from 12 -"

But they came up with a plan.

Normally, at the public interviews, tributes left after they had talked with Caesar. They weren't missing anything, because they could watch the subsequent interviews rerun on TV. This meant that the tributes from 12, who were last in the queue, would be alone in the holding area after those from 11 left. They might be less on their guard.

Cato and Clove exited from the stage into the holding area. From there, a corridor led to a high-security garage, where cars waited to take them back to their rooms at the Training Center. Like nearly everything else in the Capitol, the corridor was over-decorated, full of knickknacks that meant nothing to Cato, but offered good concealment. The plan was that after the District 2 interviews, Clove would leave with Brutus and lead everybody to think Cato was with her. Cato would wait in hiding until he had a chance to eavesdrop on District 12.

In execution, much of the time was very boring. Cato had to listen to the 16 tributes from Districts 3 to 10, whom had already dismissed as not being threatening.

But the boy from 11 was interesting. "They made me come to the Capitol, and they will put me in the arena," he said. "But they can't make me play their game, and neither can you." After that he clammed up, and none of Caesar's wheedling could make him talk further.

Unfortunately the group from 12, left alone, didn't say anything revealing; they were too concentrated on the interviews. Then the girl went out, and Caesar actually asked how she had impressed the Gamesmasters. But that would have been too easy: she said she was not allowed to discuss it, and an official actually yelled at Caesar to drop the matter (Brutus found out later that the official was named Plutarch, not that that was important). The girl then repeated her Girl-on-Fire trick, and the stupid audience went wild again. She finished with a maudlin story about winning in honor of her sister.

Then the boy went onstage, and startled Cato by doing a comedy routine. Caesar then discussed how winning the Games would help the boy win a disdainful lady back home. At this point the boy startled everybody by saying his ladylove was his fellow tribute. The audience was aghast, realizing that it was impossible for the couple to both survive the Games.

It was after his exit that the big excitement happened. Cato heard a violent crashing noise from the holding area, as if somebody was being thrown into a wall, and then an angry feminine voice shouted: "What the HELL was that all about? First you don't want anything to do with me, and then you act as if you're in love with me?!"

There was a hubbub as several of the District 12 assistants tried to calm her down. Suddenly they came into the corridor, virtually forcing the girl to come with them. Cato hoped they would remove that fancy dress and give her a good whipping when they got back to their rooms at the training center; certainly his trainers back in District 2 would do so under the circumstances. Unfortunately, as Snow had pointed out, they probably didn't want to damage their champion too much with the Games starting the next day. Then Cato realized that the boy was not with them, and thought up a daring plan.

As the boy came into the corridor, Cato sprang out from hiding. "That bitch really treated you like crap, didn't she?"

The boy looked startled at Cato's appearance, not surprisingly, but he recovered, and sagged. "Yeah".

"Damned castrating female," Cato said, unconsciously channeling his own frustration with Clove. "You need to teach her that you have some balls."

"You think she thinks I don't have any -?" the boy said, apparently outraged.

The boy seemed genuinely enraged at his fellow tribute, and Cato drove that home, hoping that the boy would get angry enough to tell him the secret behind the girl's 11 score. Unfortunately the boy had a different notion of revenge, saying that he would kill her in the arena. He said he would accept Clove's offer of an alliance now. That wasn't what Cato was aiming at, but before he could argue further, he heard someone coming from the direction of the garage, and had to dash back into hiding.

It was an older man, and he asked why the boy was lingering behind.

"It's all right, Heymitch. Just didn't want to deal with Katniss at the moment." He did not divulge the conversation, and at least Cato could tell Clove and Brutus that he had won the boy to their alliance.

TO BE CONTINUED


	6. The First Day in the Arena

**Chapter 6 The first day in the Arena**

This was the moment for which he had been preparing for years: the entry in the arena. There was a one-minute countdown between reaching the surface and the actual start of the Games, and Cato had been trained to make the most of it. His teachers at the Academy had studied more than seven decades worth of Games and distilled the observations into a few rules.

Rule 1: Evaluate the Arena.

This year's was fairly traditional: a forest on one side, and an open field on the other. To his right there was a small lake separating the two – a crucial water source. Most tributes would probably favor the forest: the trees offered some concealment, and one could climb them to get an overview of the area. Fine. The Career-Trainees had practiced some maneuvers in some woods.

Rule 2: Locate your Allies.

The Gamesmasters never put District Partners or Allies together; that would be too easy. Cato's teachers had never been able to figure out the pattern behind the pedestals; it might be truly random every year. But until they actually got their hands on weapons, strength lay in numbers. They would gather in the first few moments and fight to make sure that they, and not any outliers, got to the Cornucopia first. Cato spotted Clove, Glimmer, and the boy from 3. The boy from 12 was closest.

Rule 3: Find your Weapons

If you had proved yourself skilled in a particular weapon, the Gamesmasters would usually provide it. Cato spotted a sword and a couple of spears for himself, a bow and arrow-quiver for Glimmer, a set of knives for Clove. Those were the things to aim for.

Rule 4 Get in the Appropriate Mental State

Surrounded by dead and dying people, some ordinarily formidable people could freeze in shock. His trainers had anticipated that and given him Insensitivity Training, so that he could will himself to become a passionless killing machine. He spent the last few minutes of the countdown psyching himself up.

5-4-3-2-1-GO!

Cato dashed toward the Cornucopia, veering only enough to join the boy from 12. Two enemies got in his way; he gave one a knockout punch and hit the other in the stomach. He didn't try to finish off either of them; that would delay him too much.

At the Cornucopia, Cato took the sword and used it on the two enemies immediately behind him. Everybody else kept their distance and Cato surveyed the field.

Clove and some boy were trying to attack the girl from 12. Clovr threw a knife into the boy to get him out of the way, and threw a second knife at the girl's head. But the target was holding a bulging pack, and used it as a shield. The knife went into the pack, and the girl was unharmed. _She has good reflexes_ , Cato thought grudgingly. But that was not enough to justify the mysterious 11 score.

Somebody else attacked Clove and she was unable to throw a third knife. Cato went to her rescue. The girl from 12 gave up on the idea of trying to grab a weapon, and ran to the woods with her pack and the knife she had won.

Within about half an hour – it was hard to judge exactly, because they hadn't been permitted to bring watches into the arena - everybody outside the Career alliance was either dead or had fled. They had even lost one Career, the boy from 4. The alliance now consisted of Cato and Clove from 2, Glimmer and Marvel from 1, the boy from 3, the girl from 4, and the boy from 12. Cato immediately took charge.

"Did anybody see what happened to the boy from 11?"

"I saw him run into the field with a scythe," said Glimmer.

Cato looked toward the field. He had misjudged perspective earlier. Some of the stalks were nearly two meters high, tall enough to hide even the huge boy. And he remembered that the boy was from an agricultural district and probably found the terrain familiar.

"Well, that's just one person. We can save him for a later," Cato said. That sounded a lot better than admitting that it was dangerous to hunt him on his own turf, where he could ambush them with that scythe at any moment. Cato was mindful of the fact that his real audience was not just the Careers, but the whole Empire; the cameras were doubtlessly on the Careers at the moment. "Right now would be a good time to carry the plan about the supplies." THE plan, not the boy from 3's plan which Cato had nearly dismissed. He wanted to show that he was on top of everything.

They took the food supplies from the Cornucopia and piled them up near the lake. That was the easy part. The difficult part was digging up the mines, without the proper tools. Nobody wanted to admit it, but probably everybody was worried about setting them off by accident. Cato made sure that the boy from 3 stayed near the mines so that he knew that his own life was on the line.

BANG! Cato jumped, fearful that one of the mines had exploded. Then he realized that it was the cannons firing to mark the deaths. By the time he came to that realization, he had lost count.

That was bad: he remembered another one of Brutus's rules: "When you're watching the Games on TV, it's easy to keep track of who's alive and who's dead. They practically whack you over the head with the information. But it's different in the arena. There are only two clues: the cannons and the pictures at night. And you have to memorize that or figure a way to record that. Otherwise you can lose track of who's alive and dangerous – until they jump you, and then it's too late."

He had better luck that evening when the sun went down and they showed the pictures in the sky. The boy from 12 used a stick to record information in the dirt.

"So who's left?" asked Cato, trying to sound like a man-in-charge asking a subordinate for a report.

"Six, besides the seven of us," said the boy. "The girl from 5. The girl from 8. The boy from 10. Both tributes from 11. Kat- the girl from my district."

So there were 12 others who stood between Cato and Victory. Three of them might be particularly difficult to get rid of. The boy from 11, with his sheer strength and clever hiding place. The girl from 12, with the mysterious ability that had won her the top score. And Clove, the former lover who had chosen to be his rival for Victory.


	7. The Letdown

**Hail the Conquering Hero**

Chapter 7 The Letdown

They scored one more trophy before the night was over. It was the girl from 8, and actually she lent herself to it. She built herself a campfire that night, apparently unaware that, in the absence of any other light source on the ground, it could be seen for kilometers. And when they reached her clearing, she had no weapon ready for defending herself, not even a branch that could be used as a club. She just said "No! Please don't get kill me!"

Clove stabbed her in the stomach.

They rummaged through her supplies. It was a long-standing rule in the games that the gifts from the Cornucopia belonged to the Capitol and could be claimed by any tribute who could put their hands on them. But it was slim pickings. Matches ( which turned out to have been her undoing, because it had tempted her to make the fire), a couple of food items, an empty bottle. All stuff that they had already.

They were wandering back to camp when somebody realized that the cannon hadn't gone off, which implied that the girl's tracker was still picking up her heartbeat. They bickered about that for a minute and the boy from 12 volunteered to go back and administer the _coup de grace._

His departure sparked an irritated argument about his usefulness. He only had one purpose in life as far as the other Careers were concerned: catching his district partner with her mysterious 11 score. So far not only had they failed to find her, but he had kept the secret of how she had gotten the score. Maybe he thought that was the only thing keeping him alive.

The cannon went off and the boy returned. "By the way, does anybody remember her name?" In the dark, nobody could see his expression as he asked that.

"Why?" asked Glimmer.

"I just want to know."

"I think her last name was Paylor," said the boy from 3.

0=0=0=0=0

The next few days were somewhat of a letdown. The five surviving non-Careers -the girls from 5 and 12, the boy from 10, both tributes from 11 – were keeping their distance. No cannons went off, there were no pictures showing at night. Cato even wondered if some of his fellow Careers were enjoying the situation. They had food from the Cornucopia and water from the lake. As long as there were "enemies" out there, they had an excuse not to fight each other and risk their lives. Glimmer, irritatingly, seemed to be treating it as a picnic. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die. And as the urgency ebbed, they were less likely to follow Cato's orders.

Clove managed to end it. "The break can't last forever. The Gamesmasters want fights, and if they're not getting them, they'll find a way to force us together." Just by saying so, she apparently brought it about. Their conversation must have been heard in the Capitol, and somebody – maybe even President Snow – must have pressured the Gamesmasters to carry out her prediction. The next day, the other side of the forest caught fire.

The Careers were too far away to be endangered by the flames. But the arena was of course enclosed by some sort of dome, and the smoke started drifting in their direction. They were trying to figure if there was a clearer spot to escape to – nobody, not even the boy from 3, knew how the air circulation worked – when they spotted HER, the girl from 12. Part of her jacket was burnt and it had even singed part of that weird one-sided braid she wore. But she spotted them and summoned up some energy to flee. She found the tallest tree in the area and shimmied up. From high up in the branches Cato heard her call: "How is it with you?"

Cato stared up for a moment, wondering if she had gone crazy. Then he realized that she was putting on an act for the Capitol audience. Joking in the face of danger would really impress sponsors. On an odd whim, he decided to play along. "Well enough. Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste, The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

 _Wow, she's got nerve_. "Think I will."

He grasped the tree trunk – and then suddenly found that there was nothing that he could use for leverage for pulling himself up. How on Earth had the girl managed it? She must be an expert at climbing – and at fending off Clove's knives, and at keeping cool in danger. Cato was starting to see how she had dazzled the Gamesmasters.

"Let me try," said Glimmer. She bent back and tried to shoot an arrow at the girl. But, of course, bows and arrows were not designed to work vertically. The arrow was badly aimed, and it lost momentum as well. The same would happened if Cato tried to hurl a sword or spear, or if Clove threw a knife. Not only was it likely to miss, but it might end up handing the girl a weapon.

"Maybe we could build a fire and smoke her out," said Marvel.

"Yeah, and maybe smoke ourselves out as well," Clove said disdainfully, trying to wave aside the smoke from the forest fire.

It was infuriating. They had their adversary treed like a squirrel, but they could DO nothing about it.

"Oh let her stay up there," said the boy from 12. "It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

"He's right," said Clove unexpectedly. "I had a teacher who studied fighting techniques before the age of gunpowder. She considered it relevant to the Hunger Games because we're not allowed to use guns in the arena. This is like a siege situation. You surround the quarry and starve her out. She only has limited food and water up there, whereas we can always get extra supplies back at the lake."

"There's a problem though," said the boy from 3. "She has the advantage of gravity. She could drop something from up there, and by the time it hits the ground it could build up a lot of momentum. Even if it's just a block of wood hacked off a limb." 

"We'll just be careful not to stand directly under," said Cato. "Deploy ourselves to block all the escape routes instead. Take turns watching so that if she starts climbing down, somebody gives the alarm."

And so they set themselves up for the night. Cato took Clove aside to whisper.

"I'm worried about Loverboy. He could secretly be on her side. Besides, we don't need him anymore now that we've found HER. We need to kill him."

"But if we kill an ally without provocation," objected Clove, "the other four will try to kill us. That's how alliances work."

"I know. So we'll take turns keeping an eye on him. If he does anything suspicious, we accuse him and THEN kill him. The others will accept that."

"Okay."

The announcements from the Capitol came about a couple hours later. The boy from 10 was dead, probably killed by the fire. Aside from the people around the tree, that left the girl from 5 and both tributes from 11.

For several hours nothing happened. Then in a single second, while Cato was watching "Loverboy" and the boy from 3 was watching the tree, all chaos broke loose.

There was a cracking sound behind Cato, then a weird buzzing sound. The boy from 12 shouted "Jackets" and started running away. Cato ran after him, at first simply to keep him from getting away, but a sudden agonizing sting on the back of his neck made him realize what was happening. The bitch from 12 had dropped a hive of deadly trackit jackets on them.

"The lake!" shouted the boy from 3. "Water – they can't track—"

Cato forgot about following Loverboy and concentrated on getting to the lake. Even so he felt two more stings. It was like the agonizing punishment of running-the-gauntlet in the Academy: you ran between two lines of people who tried to hit you with straps, belts, and outright whips. You couldn't fend them off; ending the ordeal was a matter of running and reaching the end.

Cato reached the lake and dove in. He stayed below as long as his breath held out, then allowed his head to surface. There were no signs of the trackit jackets, just a few other heads bobbing up. "Are they gone?"

"Looks like it," said Marvel.

"Trackit Jackets operate by scent, body heat, and movement," said the boy from 3, as if he was giving a lecture instead of floating in a lake. "When that all disappears, they give up the chase. Being mutants, they don't have instinctive behavior to fall back on."

"As long as they're gone," said Cato. "Let's get out."

Four of them got out. Cato, Clove, Marvel, and the boy from 3. The others looked a sight: standing in soaked clothes with hair plastered to their heads, with ugly swelling where the jackets had stung them. Cato knew he looked little better. And, unfortunately, they were probably visible to everybody in Panem. And there was no way to neaten themselves up.

There was no sign of Loverboy, Glimmer, the girl from 4. They may have missed hearing the death-cannons while distracted or underwater.

Cato had to appear to the people of Panem as the heroic leader who was on top of the situation. "Our quarry has escaped, possibly killing two of our people. Come on, we need to track her down."

"Track her down?" mimicked Clove. "I can't even see straight!" She was trying to straighten out her uniform. It was plastered against her breasts like a wet T-shirt, and she was probably mindful of the fact that the whole Empire was probably gawking at her on TV at the moment.

"Then I'LL track her down," declared Cato, heading back into the woods.

The venom was a problem, of course. Cato called on his Insensitivity Training. This helped to clear his mind a little, but it wasn't perfect: it was designed to control moods, not to counteract chemicals that were affecting his brain. He felt numb and a bit dizzy, and it made the whole situation feel unreal. He had to concentrate on his goal: killing the girl from 12, avenging her attack and thereby impressing the sponsors. But he thought his resolve looked impressive to the audience.

Something up ahead. Glimmer's body, very dead. The sexy body that he had lusted over was now swollen in various place, her pretty face almost unrecognizable. Her bow and arrows were gone, something he didn't register until later.

Voices ahead. "Run! Run! What are you waiting for?"

In the distance he saw Loverboy and the Girl from 12. She looked disoriented, probably having taken several stings herself, but she was holding Glimmer's bow and quiver of arrows. Loverboy was closer and had his back to Cato, but it was obvious that he was urging her to flee. His claim that he had wanted revenge on the girl who had humiliated him had clearly been a pretense.

Cato hated the Girl from 12, but he hated the boy a lot more. Killing Glimmer and taking her weapons was at least the sort of thing that was expected in the Games. But the boy had BETRAYED THEIR ALLIANCE. As the girl staggered away, Cato drew his sword, shouted "Traitor!" and charged.

It should have been a well-executed execution. But Cato's body wouldn't cooperate, and he stumbled. Maybe his heart beat faster with his anger and that had spread the venom more. What he did know was that he had performed a pratfile with all Panem watching.

Loverboy picked up a limb that had been dislodged from the tree. When Cato tried to slash at him again, the boy parried with the limb.

All the attempts Cato made to stab him were blocked by the limb and Cato's own poisoned reflexes. Finally Cato remembered a concept from his training: FEINT.

Cato aimed his sword at a high angle, causing Loverboy to raise the limb. Then Cato swung his sword in a quick arc, and aimed for the genitals. He didn't manage to castrate his opponent, but he did inflict a deep cut on the leg.

Loverboy screamed and tried to club Cato. Cato dodged and the limb struck him a glancing blow. On top of the venom in his system, it was enough to make him thoroughly dizzy. Another blow could finish him off. No matter how humiliating it might look to the viewers, Cato had to run.

A few dozen meters through the forest, Cato blacked out altogether. If Loverboy was still capable of wielding a weapon after that slashing of his leg. Cato was dead.

TO BE CONTINUED.


	8. Kings of the Hoard

**Hail the Conquering Hero**

 **Chapter 8 Kings of the Hoard**

Once Cato regained consciousness, his mind cleared amazingly quickly. He was back at the lake near the hoard, and Clove was bending over him. He even remembered to sound commanding rather than dependent. "What happened while I was out?"

"Our sponsors sent medicine to counteract the trackit jacket venom," said Clove. "I gave you an injection, too. Felt weird, but I think we're back to normal. The hovercraft also picked up Four Girl and Glimmer. They looked horrible," Clove was sounding unusually somber. She must have been thinking _I could have ended like that as well, if I had run less fast._

"After the effects of the medicine wore off," said Marvel, "we went to see what happened to you, and Loverboy, and the bitch from 12. We found you unconscious. Nearer the tree we found a lot of blood, a trail of it. We followed it but it stopped suddenly. Whoever it was must have REALIZED they were leaving a trail, and bandaged it up."

"That's Loverboy," said Cato. Trying to sound impressive, he added, "I gave him a deep cut on the leg. He may even be dying of it by now."

He belatedly realized that he had to account for his failure to do anything about the girl, but Clove saved the situation by saying, "Thank you for saving the bitch for me, as I asked.'

"Or me," said Marvel unexpectedly. "She killed my district partner, horribly."

"What about the others?" asked Cato.

"Seems to be three left," said the boy from 3. "The girl from 5, and both tributes from 11."

So it seemed that there was little danger of attack at the moment. 5 and the two 11s had shown no interest in attacking at all. The two 12s were hurt. Marvel proposed that set up some snares to catch their enemies, using binding ropes from the Cornucopia and the ingenuity of the boy from 3. They spent most of the day doing that, at nearby spots in the woods. After that they returned to the lake and decided to relax. They didn't say so out loud of course – that would put off the sponsors in the Capitol – but they had food, and water, and safety, and this was probably the last day of the Games in which that was the case. If things got too quiet, the Gamesmakers would probably arrange some deadly encounters with their enemies, but were not likely to do so until tomorrow.

The sun went down and, with no artificial lighting available to help them, they settled down to sleep. To Cato's surprise, Clove lay down and snuggled against him. She was quite alluring, except that she stank to high heaven, and probably so did Cato. Neither had bathed since the Games began, and of course perfumes and colognes had been left behind in the Capitol. "You want to get back together?" he asked in surprise.

"You wish", she whispered scornfully. "No. There's something we need to talk about, and I don't want the whole world listening in."

"Talk away," he whispered back.

"While we were affected by the trackit jacket venom, I had a peculiar dream about the girl from 12. There's something weird about her, that helps her win all the time. Getting the 11, finding the wasp nest."

"Superpowers?"

"Maybe. I think it's more like something's watching over her, or has plans for her. You know the blessing 'may the odds be ever in your favor' ? It used to be 'May fate smile upon you.' She has a fate, something more than just dying in the Games."

"What kind of fate?"

"Dunno. And as I said, this was a dream brought on by the venom. Not something real."

"Is it going to make you frightened to fight her?"

"NO. It makes me all the more determined to kill her. Then I could feel that I have triumphed over fate."

Amazingly the Gamesmakers left them alone for two more days. Cato worried that they were getting bored and had something very violent in store. Then on the third day, they spotted smoke from a fire, about a kilometer away. They had to respond to that, or the Gamesmakers and the sponsors would really get annoyed.

But to their astonishment, there was nobody at the fire when they arrived in the clearing. As if somebody had gone to the trouble of building an effective fire, and then went off without making any use of it.

"Bait!" Clove said suddenly.

BANGBANGBANG went an immense noise in the direction of the lake. Not just an explosion, but a series of them. And the only thing in the arena that could explode were the bombs under the tribute platforms. The bombs that had been planted to protect their food hoard.

They sprinted back.

The food hoard was ruined, just a set of ashes upon ashes. Cato didn't know what he was doing for the next few minutes, but finally he whirled upon the Boy from 3. "Your trap was supposed to kill a thief! Not destroy all our food!"

"I had no way of measuring the power of the explosives! No tools, no instruments! No-"

He did not speak another word, because Cato had wrung his neck.

Clove and Marvel did not react. Potentially they could have regarded it as the end of their alliance and a sign to fight, but they both seemed to think the stupid engineer had deserved it.

"At least the thief got killed too," Marvel said. "Probably didn't even know the mines were there. I wonder which tribute it was?"

"I'm NOT going to be combing through those ashes looking for a corpse," declared Clove.

"We'll find out tonight when they put their faces up in the sky," said Cato. "After that, we'll have to find a new source of food."

But that night, when the Gamesmakers broadcast the list of the dead, there was only the Boy from 3.

"Somebody must have STOLEN food from the hoard," speculated Clove. "Then deliberately blew up the rest."

"If that's the case," said Marvel. "Then we can kill him or her, and get some of the food back."

"It's the bitch from 12," yelled Cato. "And when we catch up with her, I'm going to kill her in my own way, and I don't want either of you to interfere!"

TO BE CONTINUED.


	9. The Tributes Together

**Hail the Conquering Hero**

 **Chapter 9 The Tributes Together**

BOOM. BOOM. The cannon marking deaths in the arena.

Cato snapped to attention, though of course there was nothing to see. The cannon didn't tell you who was dead. It could be two enemies, or two allies, and the answer would affect whether Cato would survive the next few days.

He was searching the area around the campfire. It was obvious that the bitch from 12 had built it as a decoy, so that she could blow up their hoard while they were investigating it. But she might have left clues around. Did she have a hideout nearby? Supplies? Meanwhile Marvel and Clove were checking the snares that Marvel had set up, to see if anybody was caught.

The hovercraft appeared about half an hour later than the cannon. That seemed a long delay, but it was hard to tell time in the arena, with no clocks or watches. To Cato's irritation, the foliage blocked most of his view, so he could not tell whose bodies were being retrieved. The best he could do was note the general direction, and go look.

Eventually he found Clove leaning against a tree, with a stunned look on her face. As he approached she reached for a knife, but then she recognized him and relaxed. "Marvel's dead."

Leaving Clove and himself as the only members of the alliance. "Who was the other cannon for?"

"Girl from 11."

Cato groaned. It would be better if the boy from 11 or the girl from 12 had been eliminated; they were the formidable ones. On the other hand, there would be greater glory if Cato dispatched them himself. "Did you see it happen?"

"Yeah. We could see that a girl had been caught in the snare, but it was only the girl from 11. But she kept calling for "Katniss", and Marvel had the idea of using her for bait when the other girl came. He had gotten some extra spears from the Cornucopia. He even demanded that I stand at a distance because he wanted the credit for killing the girl with the 11 score. Well, the snares were his idea, so I agreed. But I stayed nearby in case he screwed things up - which he did."

"The girl from 12 appeared, and Marvel did something stupid. He killed the 11 girl first. And before he could pick up his second spear, she whipped out her bow, put in an arrow and shot him in the throat at nearly 20 meters away, all in a few seconds. Cato, THAT's how she got her 11. She's the best archer I've ever seen – better than anybody we had at the Academy, and a helluva lot better than Glimmer was. We're just lucky she didn't have that bow for the first few days."

"At least we know that now."

"The 12 girl cut the other one loose from the snare, but she died in her arms. Then things got really weird. The girl from 12 made this sort of salute, then picked up some flowers from nearby and scattered them over the dead girl's body, as if she was doing a memorial service at the Academy. But in the middle of the Games, and for a rival tribute!"

"Wait a minute. Why didn't you kill the 12 girl while she was doing all that?"

Clove bit her lip, looking more flustered than Cato had ever seen her. "I couldn't kill her while she was crying."

"WHAT?! Why not?"

Clove got defensive. "Remember when I told you about Pepper's memorial service, when I started crying, and the headmaster slapped me and threatened to kick me out of the school for being a wuss? I had to grovel and kiss his arse to stay in the Academy, but I decided afterward, people have a right to mourn."

"Oh, great. While you were busy respecting her right, she's slipped through our fingers. That's twice you've been afraid to kill her. Are you going to wimp out again if we finally catch her?"

"NO. I'll kill her, and make sure it hurts a lot, too. This was special circumstances."

"Then let's find her and get rid of her once and for all."

They found the 11 girl's stash of food nearby. Not goodies from the Cornucopia, but berries and parts of wild animals. The animals had clearly been killed by something sharp piercing their bodies, probably the archer girl's arrows. The two girls must have been allied for some time. Cato and Clove took it with them, now that they no longer had their hoard to nourish them.

As they started out it occurred to Cato that the headmaster was probably watching them on TV and heard the part about Clove faking contrition and kissing his rear end. It probably didn't matter. If Clove died during the Games, she was beyond his anger. If she won, she would have enough prestige to survive the scandal. Or the Capitol might censor the reference to the secret academy altogether. The outside world was becoming more and more distant to Cato, and he couldn't keep worrying about how they were interpreting what he did. Winning the Games was the important thing.

The frustrating thing was that, having made the grand resolve, they couldn't find the girl. Cato reminded himself, that aside from the archery, she could climb even the most unpromising of trees. Once up there, even without a handy hornet's nest, she could shoot them with Glimmer's arrows, if she had a clear shot. If not, she could still drop a heavy limb on their heads, as the boy from 3 had pointed out. She had probably stolen food from the hoard. If she could figure out how to sleep and relieve herself up there, she could stay hidden for days. And there were hundreds of trees in the forest; they could scarcely look up each one.

"ATTENTION, TRIBUTES."

The sudden voice startled them badly, as if somebody had snuck up on them. Then theu recognized it: Claudius Templesmith, the traditional commentator for the Games. But he rarely addressed the tributes in the arena themselves.

"THERE HAS BEEN A RULE CHANGE. UNDER THE NEW RULES, TWO TRIBUTES FROM THE SAME DISTRICT WILL BE DECLARED JOINT VICTORS OF THE GAMES IF THEY ARE THE LAST TWO LEFT ALIVE. HAPPY HUNGER GAMES, AND MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR."

"REPEAT: THERE HAS BEEN—"

Clove and Cato stared at each other.

"You realize what that means?"

"We don't need to ever fight each other."

"We can both win."

"We can both go home."

"We can stay together the rest of our lives—"

And for the first time since that long-ago encounter in Clove's Academy dormroom, the two District 2 Tributes embraced.

TO BE CONTINUED.

(AUTHOR'S NOTE) This chapter incorporates elements of a previous fanfic I wrote, CLOVE AND DEATH, in which she explained why she didn't kill Katniss while the latter was mourning for Rue.


	10. The Trap

**Hail the Conquering Hero**

 _(AUTHOR'S NOTE. The sex and violence level is higher here than in previous chapters, but still within the T classification, I think)_

 **Chapter 10 The Trap**

They retreated inside the Cornucopia for privacy. Neither could remember seeing inside the structure in any prior Game, so they assumed that there were no cameras to spy on their lovemaking. It wasn't nearly as comfortable as Clove's bed at the Academy – Clove had to lie on a discarded sack - but after all, this WAS a Hunger Games arena.

Afterwards Clove fell asleep, still naked. She looked not only desirable, but vulnerable. Was it really possible that, up to a few hours ago, they had actually been planning to kill each other in the end? They hadn't really TALKED about it much – most of the talk was about getting rid of the bitch from 12 – but it had been at the back of his mind. And Clove had been aware of the possibility ever since she had decided to volunteer for his Games.

And without the distraction of the Games business, Cato realized how much he cared for Clove. It was deeper than the lust he had felt for Glimmer, or the fantasies he had about girls throwing themselves at his feet once he returned home as victor.

Clove began to stir. "Wha' happened?" She looked down, saw that she was naked, and hastily threw her arms across her breasts.

"Everything's all right," assured Cato. "We're safe in the Cornucopia. Safe as we can be in the arena."

Clove found her clothes and started dressing. "Terrible dream. I was getting stung by the trackit jackets, but it was tangled up with the whipping I got in the Academy, my first week. One pain after another and I couldn't fight back. I swelled up like Glimmer did, but I didn't die. I turned into a monster instead, and I was wandering around the Academy—"

"Don't dwell on it," said Cato; her narration was giving him the willies. "We're in the arena now, and we've got four people to get rid of. Then we can go home."

"Right. Boy from 11, girl from 5, both from 12. Have you figured out why they're letting both of us go?"

"Dunno. But I think they've decided, as you did earlier, that there's something important and dangerous about the girl from 12. They're so anxious to get rid of her that they want us to kill her at all costs. They're letting us both survive so we'll concentrate on her, and not worry about fighting each other afterwards."

"Yeah. All right, let's go."

But, as in the previous day, "going" accomplished nothing. The four enemies were nowhere to be found. Cato remembered how Brutus had mentioned the different forms of "strength"; hiding was definitely one of them. What counter-strategy could they use? If they still had more Careers, they might have kept an eye on the largest bodies of water and caught their prey as they came to drink or replenish their water bottles, but there was little Clove and Cato could do as a pair. Set traps near the water supplies? There was Marvel's specialty, and the boy from 3's.

"I thought you were supposed to've hurt Loverboy a lot," Clove said crossly. "So why isn't he dead?"

Cato couldn't vocalize the obvious answer, that the wound was less serious than he intended. "I suppose he's hiding with his partner, and she's using her sponsors' money get medicines."

"You think the Five Girl is with them? And Eleven Boy?"

"Eleven Boy said he'd be a loner, and he's certainly been acting it. I don't remember anything about Five Girl, except that she had red hair. Who'd have thought she would last this long?"

"I suppose Brutus would say that we should've taken any possibility into account."

"If we win, it won't matter what we did wrong on the way."

"If."

They returned to the Cornucopia hideout empty-handed. What was worse, their recaptured food was starting to go bad, and Clove refused to sleep with him this time. It would sap their energy, she said.

They were awakened the next morning by a tremendous stench, "like tonnes of s*** all piled together", as Clove bluntly put it. What was worse, knowing the Gamesmasters, there could be something poisonous mixed in. Clearly the Gamesmasters were kicking their asses, telling them to get out of the Cornucopia and do their jobs.

But the Gamesmasters' attitude worked two ways. They were getting impatient with the lack of action in the arena. So as night fell after another quiet day, there was another announcement.

"ATTENTION, TRIBUTES. YOU ARE INVITED TO A FEAST AT THE CORNUCOPIA AT SUNUP TOMORROW."

That explained their being driven away. The Gamesmasters wanted to set something up without Cato and Clove being unfairly close.

"THIS IS NO ORDINARY FEAST. EACH OF YOU NEEDS SOMETHING DESPERATELY. EACH OF YOU WILL FIND THAT SOMETHING IN A BACKPACK, MARKED WITH YOUR DISTRICT NUMBER, AT THE CORNUCOPIA AT DAWN. FOR SOME OF YOU, THIS WILL BE YOUR LAST CHANCE."

"Bait!" exclaimed Clove. "They're drawing us all into the same area at the same time. Even if we don't need that backpack, we'll find the bitch from 12."

"What if she stays away?"

" _Needs something desperately._ Maybe it's the medicine she needs to save her Loverby. The Gamesmasters have been watching everything. They KNOW if we need something."

"OK, we'll go when the sun comes up and –"

"Oh, no. I'LL go. We agreed that I'd get the girl."

"Then we agreed that I'd kill her in my own way."

"I've got ways too. They taught me about a lot of tortures in the Academy, to test my Insensitivity Training. Ever heard of the Chinese ling-chi torture?"

"How does it work?"

"Also known as the Death of a Thousand Cuts. You cut pieces off of your victim, big enough to hurt a lot but not serious enough to kill them altogether. Perfect fit for my knife collection. I'm going to do it to her face. Slice off her ears, nose, lips, maybe her eyes, though it may be better to let her see what's coming next. I'm going to give the audience a terrific show. You can watch the rerun when we get back to the Capitol." Clove seemed to be getting very excited at the idea.

"But what do I do?"

Clove snorted. "Keep an eye on where the bitch comes from, then follow the path back to find Loverboy. Finish the job that you should have done several days ago. And you can collect their food stash."

Cato suddenly had an image of Clove as a nagging wife. But he too was pleased by the prospect of Clove torturing their enemy to death, exorcising any notion that the girl was the darling of fate or anything so grand. In the end they'd both get the credit, as Mr. and Mrs. Cato.

When they got to the Cornucopia the next morning, the stench was gone. There was a table in front of the Cornucopia, with four backpacks with large numbers on them.

The first thing that happened was startling: the redheaded Girl from 5 rushed out and grabbed her backpack. Cato was tempted to attack but Clove shook her head. They didn't want to screw up their biggest chance to get the bitch from 12.

There! The girl with the bow appeared. Cato took careful note of where she emerged from the forest, circled around to the point, then proceeded into the woods on her presumed path.

There were no footprints, no smushed-up leaves or twigs. Among other skills, the girl seemed to know how to walk through woods without leaving a trail. Cato had to concentrate on continuing to walk in the same direction. It occurred to him that he had seen a rocky area of the arena in this direction, with a brook running through it. Belatedly he realized that it would make an excellent hiding place, complete with water supply. They should have tried it earlier.

"Cato! Cato!"

Clove's voice, and she sounded terrified. Something had gone wrong. Cato abandoned his search and rushed back toward the clearing, but it was tough running through the woods. At one point he actually thought he saw Twelve Girl approaching, and was tempted to try to kill her. No. If Clove was in danger, rescuing her took priority. If Twelve Girl spotted him, she must have reasoned the same way, and decided to continue to her hideout and tend to Loverboy.

Things were in a mess when he reached the clearing. The gift table was overturned. Clove's knives were scattered around. Clove herself was lying in a heap right in front of the Cornucopia. No sign of an enemy around.

When he knelt down beside Clove, he saw how badly she was hurt. Some of her hair was matted with blood, and there was something wrong with the shape of her head, as if somebody had battered her skull in. Her eyes, still open, were dilated; he had heard somewhere that that was a symptom of concussion or brain damage. She gave no sign that she knew he was there.

"Clove! Clove! Hold on. Stay with me! I'll – " what could he do? "I'll win the Games, and they'll take us back to the Capitol and fix you up. Just hang on. Hang on! I – "

BOOM went the death cannon.

"—love you."

His beloved Clove was dead. Cato looked around desperately for something he could do. He vaguely remembered a legend about a hero who wrestled with Death and made Him release His prey. But real Death was intangible and beyond his reach.

In the distance he saw the huge boy from 11 running away into the field, carrying two bags, and realized that he was the one who had bashed Clove's head in. The girl from 12 didn't have the strength for that. Cato got to his feet, drew his sword, and gave chase. It didn't matter that the kill would bring him one step closer to victory. The stolen bag didn't matter. Even the survival of the bitch from 12 didn't matter. He was going to avenge Clove.

TO BE CONTINUED.


	11. The Final Test

**Hail the Conquering Hero**

 **Chapter 11 The Final Test**

Cato found himself gaining on his adversary. The latter was strong rather than fast, and was weighed down by the two backpacks that he was carrying. Finally the boy from 11 realized it: he threw down the packs and turned around to face Cato, drawing a sword that he had presumably gotten from the Cornucopia.

As the sword descended, Cato parried with his own. That saved his life, but the sheer force nearly knocked him over, and Cato backed up.

The Eleven was a powerful fighter, but he had probably never been allowed to touch a weapon in his district, while Cato had been trained by excellent swordmasters. He recalled that the tribute had also refused various lessons during training, saying he didn't want to "play the game". That reluctance was fatal. When Cato attacked from an odd angle, his opponent failed to parry, and Cato's sword stabbed deeply into his body.

The boy from 11 fell, bleeding but not dead yet.

"I've avenged Clove!" Cato shouted.

"You didn't kill me," the other growled out. "The Games killed me. And they killed your Clove. And they'll kill you."

"I'm going to win the Games."

"You'll still – be - d—" his opponent slumped over. BOOM went the cannon, confirming that he was no longer alive.

Cato looked down at the body, feeling numb. It was not the numbness that the trackit jackets and the Insensitivity Training had caused, but genuine lack of feeling. That final boast of the victim – "You didn't kill me, the Games killed me" – kept him from feeling a surge of victory. And though he had avenged Clove's death, it was not like the story of the hero wrestling Death for his beloved. Clove was going to stay dead, no matter what he did.

Mechanically he went through the packages. The one marked 2 had some ingenious body armor that he recognized by reputation: flexible enough to allow movement, but impervious to most weapons. The idea, he realized, was to protect him against that archer girl's arrows. The one for 11 just had a couple of items: night goggles, and some special cloth that would probably conceal the wearer's own body heat. Cato donned the body armor, discarded his package, and carried the 11 package as he trudged back to the Cornucopia. He heard noise from the sky and realized that a hovercraft was picking up the 11 boy's corpse, but he didn't bother to turn around and watch.

Clove's body was gone when he reached the Cornucopia, leaving a puddle of blood that had bled out of her skull and her knife collection. Maybe the hovercraft had retrieved her before going to get Eleven. He picked up a couple of knives, not just because they would be handy but because he wanted some tangible reminder of Clove.

He knew the protocol. They would take the body to the Capitol, make it look a little more presentable, put it in a coffin, and ship it back to District 2. The girls' wing of the Academy would give her a memorial service. Maybe some girl friend would weep over the loss. Then Cato suddenly remembered Clove's story of how the headmaster had slapped her for crying over a fallen friend. Nobody would dare mourn for Clove. At that point Cato hated the headmaster more than anybody else, even the girl from 12.

Enough brooding. There were still 3 tributes out there: the pair from 12 and the girl from 5. If the package was medicine for the injured Loverboy, he might be up to fighting again and Cato had three adversaries.

He resumed his previous strategy from this morning: find the spot where Twelve Girl had left the woods, and reverse her course. He recognized the point where they had nearly collided in the woods. He didn't regret his choice then; being with Clove as she died was still more important to him.

Two kilometers further he heard an ominous humming. Another trackit jacket nest. Cato hastily turned around and tiptoed away before they detected him.

Think, think, think. The girl had not come through here. She had taken a zigzag course through the woods, precisely to avoid what Cato was doing now. He would have to look for signs of where she turned, and that would slow him down tremendously. Given her familiarity with woods, she was probably an expert on NOT leaving a trail.

Eventually the sun went down, with no success on Cato's part. The images went up: Clove and the boy from 11. The sight of her face, formally posed but still alive, moved him nearly to tears.

He set himself up for tonight. Find a secluded spot that could not be seen at a distance. Use the special cloth from the 11 package as a covering. Even if the others had night goggles of their own, they couldn't spot him.

And he brooded again.

Was there something they could have done differently to preserve Clove's life? He went over all their decisions, in reverse. He could have insisted on going to the Cornucopia on his own, or as a pair. They could have overpowered the boy from 11 together, and maybe cut off the girl from 12 as well.

Or they could have refused to go to the Cornucopia at all. The gifts were not worth it. The reason they had gone was to trap the girl from 12. If they had avoided that opportunity, the Gamesmasters – or was it Snow himself by this point? – would be furious. They might revoke the promise of letting them both win, or even found some way of killing off Cato and Clove. The Gamesmasters were cruel enough when they were indifferent. You certainly did not want to get on their bad side.

Cato fell asleep with these thoughts in his head.

The next morning he mulled over strategy. Reversing the girl's course was not working. But he remembered the brook that went through this section of the arena. If Loverbody was too wounded to move, they might have hidden near that. Unfortunately, they might have given up on that hideout once he was cured. But it was worth a try.

Cato had another problem: nearly two weeks into the Games, he was hungry and had no food available. When he finally found the brook and satisfied himself that the 12s were not nearby, he took a long drink. There was a fruit tree nearby and he picked some, gambling that they weren't poisonous.

Another wasted day passed. For all he knew, he might have PASSED their hideout and not spotted it. Belatedly he realized that there were other clues he could have looked for. No matter how well hidden they were, the 12s would occasionally have to "go to the bathroom", and of course the arena had no bathroom. Revolting as it sounded, maybe Cato should have been looking for piles of human feces in the woods. As if he could recognize the difference between human and animal droppings.

That evening he heard a cannon boom. One of the three adversaries was dead. He found out who when the pictures came up in the sky. The girl from 5. Nobody had attributed any importance to her, yet she had outlasted Clove in the Games.

This triggered another round of brooding on might-have-beens. Would if Clove had not volunteered at the reaping? She could have left her stupid mouth shut and let Claudia volunteer, as initially planned. Cato frankly wouldn't have cared if Claudia had gotten herself killed. Then he could have won the Games, returned home, and married Clove. Well, there was a complication: they might have insisted on her rejoining the Peacekeepers, who were forbidden to marry. But Cato's prestige as a victor could have gotten around that. He could have demanded that they let Clove be his wife.

Why had Clove volunteered? Apparently it went back to the incident where Clove had cried at the memorial service. While defending her "right to mourn", she also felt that she had lost face and had to get it back. By, for example, volunteering for the Hunger Games. The incident had come back to haunt Clove in another way, too. It had paralyzed her ability to act when she saw the Girl from 12 crying over her own dead friend. And later she had to compensate for THAT by insisting that she must be the one to kill the other Girl. If only that damned headmaster had kept his mouth shut and let Clove cry.

Cato could push the chain of cause-and-effect back further. Clove, like Cato, had entered the Academy with the intention of becoming a Peacekeeper. That, after all, was the Academy's official function. But after months of secret observation, the Academy had offered Clove admission to their secret tribute-training program, and Clove had jumped at the opportunity. So had Cato. The pursuit of the honor of being of a victor had cost Clove her life. It might still cost Cato's.

He told himself that honor was honor. It was an important part of their culture, a noble pursuit. It was easy to believe that in the Academy, when he was surrounded by people who kept repeating the idea. It was less easy to believe when he had spent days in the arena, losing his beloved – he was even willing to kill her at one point!

At this point Cato's hatred of the headmaster pushed his thoughts in an unprecedented direction. Was the headmaster really dominated by thoughts of honor? No, he had a job. He was paid by the District to produce Victors. Because each Victory bought goodies from the Capitol.

Clove's life had been lost to get those goodies. Cato's life, for several years, had been dominated by the same motive. What would life have been like if he hadn't been a cog in the machine?

 _I'm dead_ , he thought. _I've been dead for years, and hadn't known it._

Cato's reflections were interrupted by an odd growling sound, of an animal. He peaked out from under his blanket.

Wolves. No, wolf-mutts, sent into the arena to make life hell for the tributes. They were heading his way. The blanket did nothing to hide him from sight. They were tracking him by smell – easy to do when he hadn't had a decent bath for days. Would the armor protect him sufficiently? He didn't want to depend on that.

Climb a tree? It would be just like the Gamemasters to give the mutts tree-climbing skills.

Cato got up and started running, in what he hoped was the direction of the Cornucopia.

He was nearly exhausted when he finally emerged in the central clearing. The boy and girl from 12 were there, but Cato ignored them. He got to the Cornucopia and pulled himself on top, then collapsed as he tried to catch his breath. A few seconds later the pair from 12 also clambered up.

For a few seconds they stared at each other. Cato could almost hear them thinking: _we're in the same predicament. The mutts and their Masters in the Capitol are the enemy, not each other._ But Cato couldn't be sure of it. Suddenly he grabbed Loverboy and held him in front as a human shield. By the time the girl had grabbed an arrow from her quiver and put it in her bow, she was stymied.

Then the boy did something peculiar: making a small gesture to his left, where a bit of Cato's armored body was not blocked by the boy. The girl changed her aim and let an arrow fly.

The arrow bounced off his armor. But what Cato had not anticipated was the MOMENTUM of the arrow ricocheting. It knocked him off balance, and what was worse, he lost his grip on Loverboy. He tumbled off the Cornucopia to the ground.

The wolf-mutts surrounded him and tried to eat him. For a few seconds his armor defeated them. Then one of them fastened its teeth on his unprotected hand. He tried to jerk his hand back, but only part of it came. The wolf had bitten off several fingers, causing him agonizing pain.

He looked up at the pair on the Cornucopia, who were watching in horror.

"KILL ME!" he begged.

The boy nodded and the girl drew her last arrow. He saw that she was aiming at his unprotected head. The arrow would go into his brain and kill him instantly. His last look was at her face, and he could tell that her main motive was not to kill her last enemy, but a noble impulse to put a suffering human out of his misery.

Cato had not proved to be a great hero. But at least he would be killed by one.

WOOSH-

THE END


End file.
